


Don't Go Toe Picking My Heart

by Renton6echo



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renton6echo/pseuds/Renton6echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long recovery from a skating injury Erik comes back to the Lake Arrowhead Champions rink in preparation to compete for a spot in the US Winter Olympic team. It is there that he meets the young new rising star of Men's figure skating Charles Xavier, the only man to land the very jump that almost tanked Erik's skating career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally from a 1st Class Kink Prompt , but I never finished it, but hopefully this will give me the motivation to actually do something with this work. 
> 
> My knowledge about the Figure Skating world is basic, but I will try to do it justice. Please let me know what you think.

The biting cold and the smell of chilled sweat was the most welcomed greeting Erik could receive. The three months he had spent away from an ice rink had begun to slowly eat at his sanity when all that he had to look forward to was physical therapy, tape reviews, and Desperate Housewives of New York. Three months of sitting in agony reliving the day his figure skating career had spiraled into the possibility of non-existence. Sebastian Shaw, his world champion, Russian-trained coach had posted all the devastating headlines of Erik's accident to in his recovery room in the hopes to use his anger to spur his recovery time. The first images Erik remembered when he came to were the bold, black print:

_**Lensherr falls and so does his Olympic dreams.** _

_**No Olympic gold for Lensherr.** _

_**Grave accident may end skating career indefinitely.**_

Shaw had said it was motivation and Erik had used it when bedridden, letting the resentment and anger to push himself to recovery in the hopes that he could make the competition for the US Winter Olympic team. The months had been exhausting and painful but Erik could not stand the humiliation of letting the Winter games sweep away from him a second time.

“Hey Lensherr long time no see.'” came a voice form the ice. Alex Summers sped towards him before executing a long skidding halt causing a wave of ice to spray Erik's leather boots. Alex had been a friendly rival ever since they met in the junior's regional division competitions. At nationals, Alex and he were constant companions on the podium alternating between first and second place. Erik had proudly boasted that he had more medals for the former than the latter, much Alex's indignation. Of course Alex also had an Olympic bronze in his arsenal and Erik did not.

“Has it?” he says feigning indifference.

“I don't know man.” says Alex as he haphazardly scrapes the remains of shaved ice from the blades of his boots. “All I know is, is if that were me away from the ice for that long. I don't care if I were in traction I'd get myself skating the ice on a gurney.” Erik almost snorts at the mental image. Alex smirks and gestures to Erik's skates slung over his shoulder. “So are you gonna model those things like an accessory or are you gonna get out here Lensherr?”

Erik's lips thin into a grimace and he nods, when he really wants is to snap at Alex and tell him to 'fuck off' because this was his rink and his Olympic medal to win. That Alex had no idea what he had to go through to just be standing in this rink. That he had spent the whole night heating his hollow boots in the kitchen oven forcing them onto his feet in the hopes they would contour perfectly to his feet. That the whole night Erik had tossed and turned in his bed, reliving his accident, telling himself that this was it because this was his last chance. 

His first steps out on the ice came with a mixture of immense relief and trepidation. Placing both blades on the ice Erik released a shaky breath before launching himself from the edge. After a few short strokes he began pumping his legs in longer strides to gain momentum until he was finally speeding over the ice, letting his muscle memory take over and guide him through simple maneuvers. In an instant the biting cold air and the sound of his blades on worn ice was enough to make the man Erik cry out in relief; all the months of physical therapy, medication and sleepless nights had centered around him meeting the ice again. 

Quickly gaining confidence Erik carefully maneuvered himself so that he was skating backwards and took off from the outside edge of his blade to complete a small loop jump. The landing was solid, but the strain of his leg made him grimace. Moira, his physical therapist had warned him that his leg would still be sore and that a steady increase in small jumps and spins would eventually lead to a proper full recovery. Erik had only fixed the woman with an incredulous stare, while she offered a meek apologetic shrug. Slow and steady could not be considered an option when competition was fast approaching.

“Don't feel discouraged,” she had said affectionately. “ The fact that you have come this far in such short a period is next to a miracle. I am sure you will have no problem competing.” At that, Erik remembered Shaw scoffing from his place behind him, remarking flippantly that it was going to take more than a miracle for that to happen.

After a few jumps and spins Erik was already drowning in sweat and panting for breath. Skating slowing by the edge he gripped his left thigh with a scowl rubbing the sore muscles indignantly asking himself why anyone thought ice and cutlery nailed to footwear made for good sport. He looked out across the ice as music with a distinct ¾ beat echoed the rink. It was then be spotted a ice dance couple practicing the waltz gliding gracefully in sync with one another. Erik raked his brain for names, the red head he recognized, it was Sean...Sean something and his partner Angel. They had placed fifth in the Worlds making them the favorite and most likely for the US Olympic team. He watched them for a little longer and marveled at the speed and grace of their footwork.

“Watch out!” came a voice to his right. Erik veered to the left just in time to avoid collision with to a couple in the middle of a straight-line lift. The Pair skaters let out a simultaneous word of thanks as they passed.

“Once again” said the pair's coach. “And Hank watch your toes on your spread eagle, they have to be pointing outward.” The boy nods dejectedly, but his partner-a petite blonde in a dark blue studded leotard- pats him on the back encouragingly as they skate off to attempt another lift. Erik hears Alex's cocky snort as the other skates along with him.

“Male pair skaters,” he scoffs. “Think they're all that cause they get to lift chicks up in the air and cop a feel once and while. Really they're just the muscle. Couldn't cut it in singles so they had to partner up and do labor instead.”

Erik rolls his eyes and he flexes his left foot out in front of him. “Isn't he the guy that goes to university with your younger brother?” he asks, watching the pair as they performed another straight lift.

“Yeah super brainy kid apparently.” bites out Alex. “Full ride and everything. Not like his life depends on being competitive.”

 “Who's the girl?”

“Raven Xavier” Alex shrugs. “Young and new skater, they both go the same university. Their coa-”

“Xavier?!” says Erik in mid stride as he stops in the middle of the ice. “Like in Charles Xavier?”

“Yeah they're brother and sister. You know Charles?”

Inside Erik's heart is pounding. Know Charles Xavier? All Erik knew of Charles Xavier during the time of the World Championship a year ago was that Xavier was a nobody. A young twenty-one year old with little acclaim and a passable technical score. Now, what Erik knew about Charles Xavier was what everyone in the skating world knew. Not only was he the favorite to make it to the US team, he was the favorite to sweep for the gold at the Olympic games. All because he had accomplished the jump Erik swore he alone would be the first to do. Erik had watched from his television when Charles Xavier became the first skater to land a quadruple Axel jump in competition, and he had done it in both his short and long program, solidifying himself in Figure Skating history. Erik would only be lying if he did not say he was incredibly bitter that the infamous jump had made Xavier's career, while it almost destroyed his own.

“I don't know him personally,” says Erik.

“I should introduce you to him,” Alex replies. “ Real cool guy, we were on the same hotel floor at the Qualifications. We became drinking buddies, bit of a lightweight but he is the best drunk you've ever seen. You have to come out with us tonight!”

To see Alex’s normal brooding demeanor transform at the mention of the man is alarming and does nothing to keep Erik’s dislike with one, Charles Xavier from growing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where my writing had stopped... I have some idea of where I am going with this, but if you have any suggestions or requests I am open to them! 
> 
> Comments are always welcome!

A couple hours later Erik is on a bench speedily removing his compression socks. The ice had just been redone, the Zamboni making its path for the garage at the south side of the rink. A large group of skaters were beginning to crowd the edge in preparation, so Erik quickly began re-lacing his boots. With the Zamboni clear from view the crowd of skaters would no doubt swarm the ice to take advantage of its new sleek surface. However, the ice remains unoccupied the sound of twenty or so skaters entering onto the ice void from his hearing. Curious, he looks up to see a lone man gliding across the ice, his feet weaving from the inside to the outside edge of his blades. As he turns in the man’s direction, Erik knows the face in an instant. The man is Charles Xavier. 

There are stares and the dull murmurs from those off the ice and Erik can only assume that Charles had been first to take the ice and the other skaters had thought it best to wait and get a free show instead. If Erik wanted, he would have taken to the ice in spite of Charles, but he was far too curious.

Charles was a tiny thing; he looked a good few inches shorter than Erik, with a slim waist and a small frame that was no doubt a great advantage when executing jumps. There is something meek looking about the man, with his back hunched as he weaves across the ice, pulling nervously at his hands, his face a mix of anxiety. He hardly looks like the champion that people deemed him to be.  
  
He watches as Charles makes his way to his coach standing at the north edge of the ice rink. Clad in her pristine signature white mink coat the woman is hard to miss. Emma Frost is the stereotypical embodiment of a skating coach and a skating mom all rolled into one. Possessing both the pedagogical nature of a mentor and the instinctive nature of a mother bear.

However beautiful and charming Emma looked when being interviewed or holding Charles' hand during the announcement of the judging scores, her countenance is pensive and stern when speaking with her student. Erik doesn't know much about Coach Frost apart from what Shaw, who constantly refers to the woman as “the white witch”, says. The manicured hand affectionately gripping the man’s arm and the way Charles leans in attentively as she speaks seems to indicate they are close. Erik pretends that, it’s not another thing to be envious of.   
  
After a few minutes Charles skates back towards the center of the ice and places himself in position to begin his routine. The rink is eerily quite in the few silent seconds before the music starts. The great triumphant horn introduction to Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No.1: Movement I, fills the rink and Charles throws himself into his program. Suddenly the hunched, self-conscious boy twiddling at his fingers a few minutes before has suddenly transformed into the embodiment of passion and grace.   
  
His first jump is a tripe loop. He almost pops the jump, opening up too early while still in the air, but he quickly recovers and lands, leaving no indication that there was a mistake at all. As Erik watches, he notices that Charles' whole demeanor as he skates seems to suggest that as focused and precise as his execution of his movements are, he is completely out of focus; beyond the music and beyond the scope of the ice and where he is The man has no conscious sense of where he is in his routine, he was simply, doing. Skating. He maintains a warm calm in his features that that shows poise and grace, while at the same time, evoking the edge and bite of passion in each movement; when Charles lands the quadruple Axel jump it is flawless.   
  
'Fucking hell' Erik murmurs to himself. The man was the very definition of 'perfection'. Charles Xavier at the young age of twenty-two has somehow managed to achieve a mental state of absolute peace and serenity combined with the very chaos of the sport. A roaring applause wakes Erik's from his hypnosis and it is only then he realizes that Charles had performed his long program cold with barely any mistakes, two months before competition. 

“Makes you want to shoot your foot and call it quits, eh?” jokes Alex dropping next to Erik as he chugs a protein shake. Erik doesn't respond to Alex's remark and simply offers a thin smile.   
  
“Hey, no worries.” says Alex cheerfully. “There are two more spots still open on that podium. I know that we usually fight for the gold and silver, but one of us can settle for bronze.”   
  
Erik fixes the other with a half meaningful glare, “I like you better as a pessimist.” he mumbles and Alex rolls his eyes in exasperation.   
  
“Come on Erik, after your leg injury- the fact that you are even on the fucking ice as a competitor is a near fucking miracle. Personally, I really thought after your accident you wouldn't have been able to face the ice and the pressure for at least a year and that was being generous.”   
  
“There it is.” Erik remarks dryly. He looks towards the ice to see it now flooded with skaters. Charles was most likely lost in the fray, attempting to practice jumps without accidentally skewering a junior Ice Dancing couple. So it's a surprise when he sees Charles skating in their direction waving at them enthusiastically. He can only assume its directed at Alex who rises from his spot on the bench to bring the other into a hug.   
  
“Charles, it's good to see you again. When did you get here?”   
  
“A couple of hours ago. I tried to get some sleep on the way up, but your texts were a constant distraction.”   
  
Alex fakes a hurt expression, “ I can't help it, who else can I turn to when I want to exploit my love of gifs and funny Internet memes.”   
  
“You should go about torturing Sean for a change.” says Charles smiling.   
  
“Sean?!” Alex exclaims. “You are far too fun to annoy and torture.”   
  
“Well, I do find your humor to be rather entertaining, if not horribly crude and perverse.”  
  
“Don’t pretend that you don’t like it, Xavier.” Alex says slyly ruffling Charles’ hair.  
  
Erik feels like he is in great danger of throwing up. He has never seen Alex so, so...congenial and was much more at ease with the man's usual brooding demeanor. Charles murmurs something to the man and points in the direction of Emma and Alex giggles, fucking giggles.  
  
“Oh by the way, this is Erik Lehnsherr,” says Alex clapping him on the back. “He just got here as well. Erik this is Charles.” He rises from the bench, the guards on his blades keeping him steady as he approaches the younger man. They shake hands and Charles offers a bright smile and Erik has to keep from staring; the blue hue of his eyes are almost blinding amidst the white interior of the rink. 

“Its good to see you at the rink again Erik and to see that you have a made a speedy recovery.” he says with the lilt of his English accent. Said accent, as Erik recalls had caused a bit of controversy after Charles victory at the Worlds Championship. There were many in the American skating community who thought and still persisted that Charles was not American and was asked on several occasions to prove his citizenship. 

The whole thing was quite ridiculous and a waste of time. Erik remembered in an interview a few months ago when Charles had gracefully laughed it off, “ The only time there was this much zeal for citizen verification was with a US President, so I am sort of honored.” Charles had said cheerfully. “I am expecting a call from Donald Trump any day now.” The audience had laughed and Shaw had told him to turn the television off.  
  
“Thank You,” says Erik, dropping the hand. “It's nice to meet you.”   
  
“Charles!” Emma's voice cuts across the rink.   
  
“Oh, I better go. I'll see you later Alex,” says Charles, he flashes another cheerful smile in Erik’s direction. “It was nice meeting you, Erik.” 

When the man is out of earshot Erik shoots Alex a perturbed look.   
  
“What?” Alex demands, still smiling.   
  
“I much prefer your ‘fuck life and everyone else’ demeanor” Erik states dryly.  
  
The other man's face falls, “I know, man!” he says, panicked. “Logically speaking I should totally hate the guy. He's so damn happy all the time, and makes these horrible puns when he’s drunk and he spends all his time reading in his hotel room when he's not skating.”   
  
“But...” Erik drawls, amused.   
  
“But he's nice and funny. I don't know Erik, him and his coach are like this vacuum of charm.”   
  
Erik smirks at the man unimpressed at Alex's justification and turns to see Charles skate by. As he takes in his features Erik tries to remember all the reasons why he shouldn't like the man. Staring into Charles eyes and seeing his cheerful and youthful smile, Erik feels some of the resentment evaporate from his thoughts.

 


End file.
